


a cure I know that soothes the soul

by writevale



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Making Out, Martin can have a little bj, Oral Sex, Set post-164, Sex-positive ace, Spoilers for MAG 164, Trans Male Character, as a treat, somebody stop them they're so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23891776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writevale/pseuds/writevale
Summary: Jon and Martin take a break at the side of the road.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 22
Kudos: 335





	a cure I know that soothes the soul

Martin shields his eyes and squints up at the sky. It doesn't get dark anymore. Not really. Not on this road at least. A part of him suspects that all the dark in the world is concentrating itself somewhere. Perhaps, there's a city on this road in which all the lights have gone out and horrible things are happening to the people sheltering with their candles and torches and prayers. He doesn't ask Jon, as he stares up at the mottled apricot and bruise-purple of the sky. He ignores the Eye. They've been walking for so long now that it's almost become possible to forget that it's there. For Martin, at least.

Jon walks a few paces ahead. His large feet kick up a plume of dust with each step and land with a dull, repetitive thump on the packed earth. He's not spoken to Martin in a few hours, head bowed, occasionally murmuring to himself. Martin wonders what awful things he's seen in that time. Wonders, not for the first time, what the hell he's meant to do to help.

The tin mugs attached to the outside of Martin's bag rattle against each other as he jogs a little to catch up with Jon's long stride. His hand slips into Jon's like it's meant to be there and Martin can't fight the small smile that blooms on his lips as Jon laces their fingers together with a little squeeze. He can't help the way his smile widens even further as Jon peers up at him through the curtain of his fringe, a tiny quirk in his own lips that has always and will always tug right at Martin's core. He wishes Jon could feel that instead of the rippling nightmares that brush past the pair of them like a scream on the wind.

'How are you doing?' He asks.

'Oh,' Jon shrugs. He always shrugs. 'You know.' Martin runs his thumb over the fragile bones in Jon's hand. They plod on in near-silence, the sound of their boots against the road and their breathing the only defence against total quiet. Martin looks around them, eyeing the squat, dry shrubs lining the path and the branching form of the tree they're coming up to. He knows they're being watched, there's a great big eyeball in the sky, but he'd rather be sure that was the only thing watching them. Jon has retreated inside his head again. There's always another nightmare waiting to unfold behind those eyes of his nowadays.

'Hey,' Martin squeezes his fingers, 'Do you want to take a break?' Jon looks across at him, his expression shifting from something tortured and becoming soft, confused.

'There are no breaks, Martin. No rest from this . . . nightmare I've unleashed on the world.' He intones in the dry and almost prophetic way he's taken to talking about their current situation.

'Yeah, yeah, I _know_. But, um . . . you Know things now, right? You can Know anything?'

'Ye-es?' Jon answers slowly. Martin looks at his pale, freckle-spotted hand against the shiny, too-smooth skin of Jon's burned one.

'So, for example, you could Know what I'm thinking right now.' Jon's hand twitches in his as The Archivist considers this.

'I . . .' He trails off, 'I suppose I could.'

'Do you?'

'Martin -' He starts, exasperated. 'Just because I can Know it, doesn't mean that I am in any way more inclined to agree with you.' Martin chuckles at this and feels a tension he didn't realise he was carrying un-knot itself in his stomach as he hears Jon's huffed laughter alongside his own. By the time they'd fixed this mess, Martin would convince Jon that he was lovely to look at. The Archivist would be so thoroughly convinced that he wouldn't be able to deny it any longer. An idea starts to form in his head as he considers their surroundings. In particular, the broad, sturdy-looking trunk of the tree they're approaching.

'That tree.' He says.

'What about it?' Jon has that tilt in his voice that Martin knows means he's amused at something.

'Is there anything wrong with it?'

Jon stops them in their tracks as he considers this, hand still clasped comfortably in Martin's. He exhales slowly before delivering the answer: 'No. It's just a tree, Martin.' Curious as always, Jon seems unable to stop himself from asking, 'Why?' Martin smiles, a fraction too nervously for it to be considered a smirk.

'Is it the kind of tree you could see yourself getting pushed up against and kissed?' He feels Jon's shock as a ripple down his arm, all the way into his fingertips.

'Martin, I - I don't know if that will work.'

'It might?'

Jon scratches his head with his free hand, a quizzical little gesture that makes something hot and furiously protective surge up in Martin's stomach. 'I suppose if you don't mind me peering in on how you're feeling? I could try to, I don't know, block the rest out?'

'Great.'

Jon lets out a tiny gasp of surprise as Martin makes good of his word and actually pushes him by the chest so his back hits the unyielding surface of the tree trunk. He uses Jon's momentary surprise to crowd close, one hand landing on the bony prominence of Jon's hip and the other grounding them against the rough fissures in the bark by Jon's shoulder. Jon's own hands rise to Martin's back and Martin feels his fingertips digging in through the layers of his coat and jumper, pulling Martin closer even as they're chest to chest.

The kiss is a wild thing. Since leaving the cottage, the only kisses they'd shared had been brief, scared things here and there. One against the back of Martin's head as he leant over their pitiful attempt at a fire, trying to coax some water into boiling. Another to the sharply defined tendons in the back of Jon's hands as he turned a tape over and over between his clever fingers. Nothing like this.

Jon tilts his chin as Martin bites down on his lip, a rumbling sound escaping from his throat. Martin can feel Jon at the edges of his mind, a desperate scrabbling feeling that is matched well by the scratch of Jon's fingernails against his scalp. _I love you_ , he thinks. _I love you_ , and Jon moans against him. Their spit-slick lips move against each other, making wet little noises above the sound of hitched breathing and the fabric rustle of Martin's hands in Jon's shirt. Jon wraps his arms around Martin's neck and there's nothing like the feeling of Jon pulling him in tighter, as if the man wants to swallow the distance between them. _God, I wanted this for so long_.

'Yeah - I'm - It's good.' Jon replies instantly as Martin breaks the kiss before pulling his boyfriend closer. There's something terrifyingly thrilling about giving up his thoughts and emotions to Jon. Martin, a man who got through life with a mouthful of convenient lies, baring himself like this. Baring his _soul_. Jon breaks out into a smile and Martin gazes down at him, dreadfully fond of the chips of bark that have fallen off into his hair. 'I think it's working. I - uh - you feel a _lot_.'

‘Hah. Yeah. I guess I do.’ Martin’s smile has barely made it onto his face when Jon launches himself forwards for another kiss.

It’s Martin’s turn to let out a small, helpless moan as Jon’s hands slide upwards to cradle his jaw and his tongue works its way into Martin’s mouth, hot and searching and -

‘Mmph!’ Martin says around Jon’s tongue as he’s suddenly hit with a greed for something he hasn’t thought about once since the end of the world. He lets his fingers grip tight onto the side of Jon's waist as though it provides any real relief from the new, burning ache deep inside. _Fuck_ , he thinks as Jon's mouth goes slack in a soft 'oh' of understanding. 'Sorry!' He whispers against Jon's chapped lips and 'Sorry, sorry!' He apologises again as he imagines how that slight roughness might feel brushing up against the hard spot between his thighs. He squeezes his eyes shut, blushing fiercely and too ashamed to meet Jon's eyes. Those lips land on each hot cheek in turn, his forehead, chin, the tip of his nose.

'Martin.' Jon's voice is slow. Coaxing. 'Martin, look at me.'

Martin blinks his eyes open against the light from the rotten sky. Jon is looking up at him from where he rests against the tree trunk, hands still clutching Martin like he's the last life ring on the ship and the sailor who's going to pull him aboard all in one. His lips shine and his eyelids are heavy over the thin slivers of hazel iris that haven’t been swallowed up by Jon's dark and hungry pupils. Martin bites his lip and Jon's gaze tracks down to follow the movement. _He's so -_ Martin can't even find the word but Jon must catch the mentally garbled drift because a healthy glow spreads across the sharp lines of his cheekbones.

Jon kisses him again, a firm, open mouthed thing that makes Martin's toes curl. 'Alright.' He rasps as he presses his head back against the tree to meet Martin's eyes. He strokes a hand down the dip of Martin's spine and grins as he starts to extricate himself from his boyfriend's grip. Martin allows himself to be turned round and pressed gently backwards. The tree is surprisingly comfortable through the thick knit of his jumper but he can feel the rough surface of the bark catching in his hair already. They're both going to walk away with tiny chips of wood in their hair and neither of them will care remotely about it. Jon taps at Martin's thighs with his hand and frowns a little when Martin doesn't spread them.

'You don't -' Martin starts, suddenly too hot in his clothes and painfully aware of both the needy coil of _want_ in his groin and the fact that they are in the middle of the countryside and could be disturbed by anything at any moment. Jon is already sinking to his knees and he holds up a long, imperious finger with a smirk.

'May the post-apocalyptic Google address your concerns?' Martin doesn't know what to do with his hands so he covers his face with them. He doesn't deny himself the pleasure of peeking between his fingers to look at Jon because seeing the man on his knees just makes Martin want to fall apart. Jon's eyes twinkle because he _Knows._ 'Firstly, we won't get interrupted because there's nothing around to interrupt us. Secondly, correct, I don't have to. I _want to_. You know I like - you know I like making you - right?' A brief, haunted look floats through his eyes. 'And, believe me, Martin. The added vicarious pleasure I get from this will be the best thing I've seen since . . .' He trails off. Martin cups his jaw delicately, smoothing his thumb through the thick stubble his Archivist has been growing since they left the cottage.

'You're going to give me beard burn.' He murmurs, shifting into a wider stance and blushing as Jon beams up at him.

‘It would be an honour.’ Jon says solemnly and then ducks out of the way of Martin’s half-hearted swat with a giggle that doesn’t sound like it should come from the same mouth that ended reality as they knew it. An answering laugh bubbles up in Martin’s mouth and floats down to where Jon is making light work of his belt and button.

There’d been no breeze when they were walking, nothing to provide even the slightest relief from the clammy air that pressed in around them, but as Jon slips Martin’s trousers and underwear down to his knees he swears he feels a chill kiss of wind. It makes him feel suddenly vulnerable. Jon runs his fingers through the downy hair covering his thighs and the worrying sensation snuffs out like an extinguished candle. All that remains is the curling smoke of Martin’s desire. Jon brushes a barely there kiss just below the hem of Martin’s shirt and Martin fights the urge to sink his hands into Jon’s thick hair and tug him into place. Jon smirks and kisses the other thigh as though Martin gave him the idea. His not-quite beard is a little scratchy. _It’s nice._

That thought has The Archivist rubbing his face up against him like a particularly affectionate cat.

‘ _Jon._ ’ Martin pleads, needing to use an embarrassing amount of willpower to resist the urge to push himself off the tree and towards Jon’s waiting lips.

‘Alright.’ He chuckles fondly. ‘I love you, you know.’

‘Hah! Ah, _Jon!_ ’ He admonishes the man for making him blush so readily. When he swipes his thumb over Jon’s lips he kisses it softly and the pink of Martin’s cheeks darkens even further.

‘Alright.’ Jon murmurs again with a playful tilt in his lips that Martin would do anything for.

The first slide of Jon’s lips against his dick has Martin catching a gasp between his teeth. He can just make out his reflection in the dark shine of Jon’s eyes and he brushes the hair out of his face, keeping his fingers twined in the slightly greasy strands because he knows one of Jon’s weaknesses is having his hair played with. He wants Jon to know what a good job he’s doing. _And just how much I love him._

Jon swallows a tiny moan as he takes Martin into his mouth fully. The wet heat is a dizzying contrast to the stale air around them and the sensation has Martin sinking his fingers into Jon’s hair to guide him closer, closer, until his nose his fully pressed into the curl of Martin’s pubic hair. The press and curl of Jon's tongue feels even better than Martin imagined and he tells him in a breathy whisper even though the man already Knows. Jon's deep grumble in response vibrates through Martin's dick and sends sparks of throbbing ecstasy up his spine, vertebra by vertebra, until it escapes as a long, twitchy exhale through Martin's lips.

'That feel so good, Jon.' He tells him again and gasps louder as the cycle repeats itself.

Jon's fingers crawl to Martin's hips, grip tightening in the soft curves on top of Martin's pelvis. Martin thinks he can feel Jon's lips tightening into a smile as he tactically ignores Martin's flurry of fantasies about how _hot_ it would be to traverse this landscape knowing he had The Archivist's bruises buried underneath his skin. Instead, Jon does _something_ with his lips and tongue that has Martin pressing his full weight back against the unwitting tree trunk so he can press his hips forward, seeking out more of that glorious, slick pressure.

He breathes Jon's name in reverence and runs his fingers lightly over Jon's skull as that mouth is held open, tongue protruding and flattened for Martin to fuck himself against. Martin cradles the open angle of Jon's jaw and almost sobs as his hips start to buck in a slow, purposeful grind against Jon's waiting mouth. Each thrust of his dick is a spike of pleasure almost strong enough to be an orgasm in itself. _It's so fucking_ \- Martin thinks deliriously. And it's been so long since they've done this, Martin refuses to blame himself for coming apart within mere minutes. Jon's hands tighten briefly on his hips as though he agrees.

Tiny chips of bark flutter down onto Martin's shoulders and into Jon's hair as Martin's head falls back against the tree. His hips rock forwards and he screws his eyes shut, admiring the fireworks in the dark behind his eyelids. There's a very real risk that his legs will completely give out when he comes.

'Jon -' He keens. When he opens his eyes, Jon is gazing up at him from his knees, fat pupils and mussed hair, and Martin abruptly forgets what he was going to say. He plucks a chunk of bark out of Jon's hair and thinks: _God, he's so beautiful_. Their eyes lock and Jon closes his mouth around Martin. ' _Fuck_.' He curses and means it. Jon's tongue flicks against the swollen tip of Martin's dick and it sends him reeling wildly towards the brink of orgasm. Jon's brown skin has taken on a healthy peachy undertone and as he opens his mouth to take Martin in deeper, he can see that his mouth and chin are wet with Martin's arousal. Martin stares right into the steel-flecked amber of Jon's eyes and thinks: _you're so beautiful_. _You're so -_

Jon sucks hard on his dick and that's it for Martin. He almost folds in half as he seizes in pleasure, hands tight against Jon's head to hold him in just the right place to wring every ounce of pleasure out of Martin's bones as is possible. The orgasm races a fiery path all the way up to the inside of Martin's skull, burning hot and making him see a blinding white. It's a trip on the pyre. No, it's a baptism. No, no, he's a phoenix and Jon is - Jon is -

His hips jerk spasmodically, dragging his dick across Jon's tongue again and again. Jon groans and Martin hopes that means he's getting more than a taste of just how good this feels for Martin. The vibrations make Martin's toes curl.

' _Fuuck_.' He moans and really means it. 'Fuck! Ah. Okay.' Jon looks up through his eyelashes as though he's not fully aware that the pleasure is just about to turn torturous on Martin's over-sensitive dick. ' _Okay_ , okay, Jon! Please!'

Jon laughs as he pulls back. His lips are split into a smug grin and they twist in surprise as Martin dips to fist one of his hands in Jon's shirt to drag him up to his feet. He tastes of Martin as their mouths meet hungrily. Jon collapses into Martin's chest as they break to breathe and Martin rubs his back tenderly as he rests his head back against the tree, still feeling unwound and boneless from the force of his orgasm.

'You okay?' Martin asks, unable to ignore the curl of worry at Jon's silence.

'Oh, yeah. That was -' Jon laughs into the knit of his jumper, a high, almost hysterical thing. Martin wraps him up in his arms. 'You're very . . .' Jon trials off. Martin's gut clenches with anxiety and suspicion. _Loud? Forceful? Strong-tasting?_ He panics.

'What?'

'Adulatory.'

' _Oh._ ' Martin feels the building tension in his shoulders unspool and he holds Jon tighter in relief. He looks over Jon's shoulder at the empty road ahead of them. At the tower in the distance that looms even as it appears impossibly far away. Even as he stands, trousers around his ankles, he feels the burn of determined hatred for the bastard who did this to them. He presses a kiss into the side of Jon's head, wishing that he could keep him here in his arms. All he knows is: if there is a way to protect him against what lies ahead, Martin will find it. Jon shuffles in his grip.

'We should probably -' He sounds as reluctant as Martin feels. Martin reaches up to cup his face as he steps away, trying to convey everything he feels in the flash of his green eyes.

'Thank you.' He says. 'I love you.'

Jon's smile is a flickering thing. The last glowing ember of Martin's desire. 'I love you.'

**Author's Note:**

> martin king blackwood has the archivist on his dick and a middle finger up at the panopticon, convince me otherwise. 
> 
> title from moment's silence by hozier (a song about oral sex as an act of protest!!!!!!) 
> 
> thanks for reading!!


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